The Kobayishi Maru
by HoVis
Summary: Two hundred years apart, two very different captains pit their wills against the challenge of the ship lost to Romulan space, and Captain Malcolm Reed finds his world view put into perspective.


**A/N:** Hello all! Little Christmas present for you. Hope you enjoy it, even if it isn't particularly festive/cheerful!

**Disclaimer:** Nope. And I don't think I'll be getting the rights to _Enterprise_ for Christmas either.

**The _Kobayishi Maru_**

One day, the _Kobayishi Maru_ would be known by every cadet who went through Starfleet Academy: it would be known as a name synonymous to challenge, and to tragedy. But what the cadets never realised, as they laughed with their friends after the event, was that the 'simulation' they experienced had, once upon a time, been terrifyingly real.

888

"The Kobayishi Maru?" The two cadets walked side by side, the first one frowning as though the word was slightly distasteful to her. "Complete failure. I 'died' about twenty minutes in." The second cadet, a quiet, reserved young man with a faintly Vulcan cast to his face, nodded in agreement.

"At least we will have tomorrow in which to try again..."

888

_No time in war to count your tomorrows._ Captain Malcolm Reed was no stranger to risking his life, but even to him the war against the Romulan Empire seemed wasteful and... pointless.

"We're receiving a distress call, Captain." The young, pretty communications officer spoke up from her station. Reed – who had long since reached an age when he could admire such a person for her youthfulness and beauty without any thought of romance – nodded.

"And?"

"A freighter." The young woman frowned as her fingers flew across her controls. Malcolm watched her, a hint of sadness in his eyes. She was so young... to young for this. He watched as a shadow fell across the girl's face. She looked up, swallowing slowly. "It's drifted into the Neutral Zone."

Captain Malcolm Reed closed his eyes briefly. Suddenly, the day seemed to have got an awful lot longer... or their lives had all just got a whole lot shorter.

888

"Sir, the _Kobayishi Maru_ has drifted into the Neutral Zone!" The cadet playing the part of the communications 'officer' announced with great gusto. The cadets were all playing their parts to the best of their abilities.

The 'captain' rose, excitement clear on his face.

"Set a course, Ensign!" He announced, scarcely able to keep the grin from his face. Around the bridge, consoles were ignored in favour of the greater drama being played out on the viewscreen.

The Starfleet cadets were having a whale of a time.

888

The _Valiant_ was having one bloody hell of a time. They had been assigned to the border over a month ago, and it hadn't been long before the Romulans had taken offence at Starfleet's paranoid attitude towards their shaky truce. Raids had broken out, and colonies – _Starfleet_ colonies – along the border had been forced to evacuate.

The _Valiant_ had been fresh out of Jupiter Station when Reed had taken command, but that had been two long, hard years before, after his first command, the _Neptune_, had been destroyed by a Romulan bird-of-prey. Malcolm – and his crew – had got away with their lives that time, but only just.

And Malcolm wondered – as the youngster sitting at the pilot's controls gently steered his ship into the Neutral Zone – whether they'd be that lucky again.

888

The 'captain' of the simulated _Valiant_ held on grimly to the arms of his chair as he surveyed the sight on the viewscreen.

"Every detail..." he murmured to himself, "how on earth did they come up with it?"

"Sir?" Another cadet spoke up, and the captain flushed at being caught out of role. He coughed uncomfortably.

"Nothing... ah – open a hailing frequency to the _Kobayishi Maru_." His voice was riddled with uncertainty bred of inexperience. Was he doing the right thing?

888

"Open a hailing frequency to the freighter." Captain Reed's order was – as ever – clipped and certain. After almost twenty years (was it _really_ that long?) as an officer in Starfleet, he knew that there was no time for second-guessing himself. And if his decision meant yet another loss...

"No response, sir." The young, pretty communications officer responded, her eyes fixed on her controls, and Malcolm struggled to suppress a smile. Such professionalism, from one such as her...

"Very well. Biosigns?"

"Over two hundred." The woman paused, and when she spoke again her voice was full of barely-suppressed emotion. "Sir, the distress signal said that there are children onboard. At least fifty."

Malcolm paused for a moment at that statement, and unbidden he saw his son, Jamie-Charles, grinning at him from his memories. He hadn't seen Jamie in – what, six months? But duty, duty always had to come first.

"Noted, Ensign." He said, doing his best to keep the regret from his voice. Regret for what? That there were children onboard that ship? Or that his child, his son, had not seen his father in half a year? Or that his wife had an absentee husband?

"Captain!" The communications officer spoke once more, her voice urgent. "Romulan warbirds, decloaking, aft!"

Malcolm glanced up at the screen, and surprise scarcely registered as he watched the two alien ships shimmer into view. He sighed. This was his greatest regret of all.

888

"Captain, they're charging weapons!" The tactical officer announced, still unable to keep the excitement from his voice. After all, it was a holodeck simulation, nothing more – a game.

"Raise shields, Ensign, and send a warning shot across their bow." The captain sat nervously in his chair, still second-guessing himself. Would it be enough to frighten the Romulans off, or should they just go straight for them whilst their shields and weapons were still running and full capacity? Would that be morally wrong?

Suddenly a console exploded, and a disembodied voice – that of an Academy professor – spoke up.

"Crewman Lexis, please leave the simulation. You are dead."

The cold words cut through the chaos on the bridge, and everyone fell silent as Lexis – her uniform smoking slightly – got up from her station and left the simulation. The crewmembers exchanged looks. She was the first to fall.

888

It wasn't fair, Captain Reed thought, as he cradled the body of his communications officer in his arms, that one so young should fall so soon in battle. The Romulans had opened fire as soon as they had decloaked, and consoles across the ship had sparked and – in her case – exploded. A flash of light, and rush of sound, and a twenty-five-year-long life had been cut short.

"Take over on the auxiliary console, Crewman." Reed grated out, coughing at the smoke. "Tactical, report!"

"Phase shielding holding at seventy eight percent, sir. Aft cannons offline, but port cannons and photon torpedoes are at full capacity."

Reed nodded at the tactical officer (he seemed so young, since when had his crew got so young?), and flashed the briefest smile of encouragement.

"Good." He glanced back down at the woman in his arms. Gently, ever-so-gently, he closed her staring eyes, and then laid her body on the deck. She would have a proper burial – that he swore.

He rose, brushing the dust from his legs as he did so. He looked around the bridge, taking in every last face and name of his by now diminished bridge crew. They were all of them brave men and women.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he said, his mouth tautening but his eyes lighting with a strange fire, "we may as well go down with a bang."

The crew nodded.

888

The crew were starting to take it seriously at last. The "death" of one of their number had seemed a little too real, despite its obvious artificiality. The tactical officer who had laughed with giddiness earlier was now a sombre, serious individual, and the captain in particular could not refrain a rush of guilt. He realised, then, just how many lives were depending upon him. Perhaps he would be better of in engineering or science... anything but command. Anything but the unbearable, stone cold weight of a hundred lives.

But then, as he began to realise the truth in the artificial situation, a sudden fortitude entered him, and he rose from his dejected position. Anyone watching – as the examiners indeed were – would have seen in his eyes something impressive.

"Open a comm link." He said, and the other officers on the bridge looked up at the sudden harshness in their soft-spoken colleague's voice. He looked around at the silent crewmen, and met each of their eyes in turn. "We may as well go down fighting."

The comm officer nodded and opened a link.

888

The ship's life support, and with it the crew's forlorn hope, was almost gone. Captain Reed knew that the only thing he could do now was to collect what little strength he had left and give it to his young, and soon to be late, crew.

"Sir," the helmsman said, his voice hoarse, "look."

Reed looked at the viewscreen and felt bile rise in his throat. One of the warbirds had opened fire on the long-doomed _Kobayishi Maru_. Reed knew without a doubt that there would be no mercy and, sure enough, the ship burst into a deadly but beautiful green flame. Within moments it had gone, the warbird withdrew, and Reed knew that every one of those two-hundred people, including the fifty children, were now dead. And that, as the warbird turned to add its own firepower to the already battering attack on his own ship, infuriated Malcolm Reed more than anything else.

He stepped forward and laid a hand on his tactical officer's shoulder. The youthful face which looked up at him was full of fear, but Reed's expression was set, sure, and as cold as the vacuum of space.

"Let me take over," he said quietly, "let me take over and I promise you we will escape to tell Starfleet what the Romulans did to those innocent people."

The tactical officer was surprised, for it was probably the longest and most fervent sentence he had ever heard his captain utter. But he rose nonetheless, and found as he did that he was no longer afraid.

Malcolm Reed sat in his old seat and banished all thoughts of doubt as his hands rested on the controls. All, now, was tactics, chance... and his very own brand of luck.

888

The screen was a display of pyrotechnics, and the students were terrified for they had forgotten they were playacting. Each one was grimy with sweat and tears, their captain not the least of all. He was running from station to station, giving orders and encouragement.

"Almost there," he said firmly, standing behind his tactical officer and watching as the girl's hands flew across the controls, dealing barrage after barrage of ferocious weapons-fire to the enemy ships. The captain was sure they had the upper hand, for the Romulans had in the last few minutes lessened their fire and begun to retreat, ever so slightly. What he did not realise in his inexperience, however, was that they were regrouping.

Suddenly, with no warning, the attack doubled in intensity, and sparks flew from the viewscreen. Flames begun to erupt all around the bridge, and crewmen were rushing to douse them. But then, with a deafening roar and a flash of light, the bridge disappeared, and the trainees were once more in a holodeck.

Before them stood a Starfleet admiral, who stepped forward and nodded at them all.

"Well done." He said. "You did well. Not many groups have survived so long." He turned his gaze to the captain, and gave another nod. "Well done, Cadet. You did well under the burden of command. Expect a personal commendation within the week." And then, brusquely, he turned away.

The cadet – the captain who had so suddenly been stripped of his pips – stopped him.

"But sir... do you mean we lost?"

The admiral said nothing, only smiled.

888

There was a deafening silence, and then, suddenly, there was cheering. The crew had survived, and the Romulans – deciding, apparently, upon the old ethos of all who run from the battlefield that he who runs away, lives – had limped away with their tails between their legs, and even in war Starfleet tried to avoid unnecessary killing, so they had let them go. Captain Reed, however, was still sombre.

"Set a course, Lieutenant." He said to his helmsman. "Get us out of here."

Only when they were on the other side of the border did Reed allow himself to relax.

And only when he was back on Earth, with his wife in his arms and his son on his knee for the first time in months, did he allow a smile to grace his drawn features.

Captain Malcolm Reed. The first person to take up the challenge of the Kobayishi Maru, and the _only_ person to win.

888

**A/N:** Please review and spread a little festive cheer...!


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